


What A Difference A Day Makes

by Fightyourdragon



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fun, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Silly, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fightyourdragon/pseuds/Fightyourdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is slowly getting used to his life being unpredictable now that he works for MI6, but being stuck in a repeating day with James Bond is rather more unpredictable that he expected. Especially since Bond is stupidly attractive and unexpectedly funny and okay, possibly- just possibly- he's managed to develop a slight crush on the man. Where 'slight' is defined as 'epic.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	What A Difference A Day Makes

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure fun, people! It's a silly premise and the characters are definitely on the ooc side, but I was in the mood to write something just because it amused me. I feel like fandom in general could use some happy fic, so hopefully it amuses you as well! 
> 
> There is a nod to Gabriel (aka Loki) of the Supernatural fandom at the end, because I needed someone to blame for this crazy concept!
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful Hedwig_Dordt for making sure this isn't so ridiculous it's incoherent ! Any remaining issues are all me being too busy loving the silliness to listen to reason : )

 

Day 1

 

Q wakes up to the jarring sound of his office phone. He sits up groggily, rubbing at a kink in his neck. “Ow. I’m coming,” he mutters, struggling off of the sofa and stumbling in the general direction of his desk. He makes it four steps before tripping headlong over a pair of legs that are definitely not normally blocking his path. “Shit! What in the-” he catches himself on the edge of his desk and fumbles for his glasses. He puts them on and turns to see 007 looking back at him from his sprawl on the end of the sofa.  He fixes the agent with what he hopes is a sufficiently menacing look as he picks up the phone. “Q,” he snaps, not bothering to hide his irritation. Some days, he seriously wonders about his life.

 

 _Good morning to you too, dear,_ Eve says with obvious amusement. _I heard you slept at the office again, figured you could use some breakfast that doesn't come from the cafeteria. Would you prefer a cinnamon raisin bagel, or sesame seed? I know you have plenty of tea, but I can bring you one of those hideously sweet mochas you love._

 

Q flops down into his rolling chair and huffs. “You woke me up, you realize,” he accuses. “But I’d love a cinnamon raisin bagel and a mocha, so I suppose I can forgive you.”

 

“Make that two!” Bond calls loudly from the sofa.

 

_Is that 007? What’s he doing in your office? Tell him Mallory is still waiting to debrief him about his mission. And that he can get his own damn breakfast. See you soon!_

 

Q hangs up the phone then turns to Bond and smirks. “Moneypenny says you can get your own damn breakfast. And M is looking for you, but obviously you already know that. I didn’t think you would still be here, actually.” He eyes Bond curiously. “From my perspective, the mission appeared to go perfectly. Ready to share exactly why you’re hiding out in my office? I mean, I’ve been warned about how you like to sleep around, but I didn’t think the phrase was quite so literal,” he says lightly, hoping to make Bond feel comfortable enough to actually discuss what’s on his mind. He knows perfectly well their falling asleep on the same couch after Bond stumbled in in a post-mission haze of exhaustion was accidental.

 

For a moment Bond looks like he’s considering a genuine reply, but then his traditional cocky facade slams back down. “Maybe later, Q. For now I’ll just let you enjoy the mystery.” He stands and makes an attempt at smoothing out his wrinkled suit, then winks and strides out the door.

 

Q sighs and swivels his chair so he can wake up his computer. He can worry about why Bond, who he hadn’t seen face-to-face since the Skyfall debacle, decided that invading his office at eleven p.m. was a perfectly acceptable course of action. Q was aware that much of his job wasn’t included in the official description, but he hadn’t expected it to include quite so much...weirdness, for lack of a better term.  He’s just confirming a later meeting with Mallory when Eve breezes in with a large paper cup and a brown paper bag. She hands them both over then looks around.

 

“Well nothing appears to be riddled with bullets. Was 007 really here?”

 

“He was, though I’ve really no idea why. He came in last night while I was resting on the sofa. Just sat on the other end, told me not to worry about him, and fell asleep. Apparently, so did I. Then he just left this morning with no explanation. Should I be concerned? I checked for vampire bites on my neck, just in case,” he adds.

 

Eve shakes her head in amusement. “Probably not a bad idea.” Then she looks considering. “I don’t think you need to be worried. Half his bad reputation is rumor, really. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want a shag either.”

 

“Hey! I resent that. I’m infinitely shaggable,” Q protests with a grin.

 

“Of course you are darling,” Eve nods as she pats him on the cheek.

 

“Watch it, woman, or you’ll find yourself trapped in the lift while Justin Bieber songs play on repeat.”

 

“Message received,” Eve replies with a dramatic shudder. “Now after you eat, go use the showers at least. Your hair looks like it’s about legally emancipate itself and swan off to Ibiza.”

 

Q gives Eve an affronted look. “My hair has more class than that. Ibiza.” He tuts and shakes his head. “Paris, at the very least.”

 

“Promise me you’ll get more sleep tonight. Clearly you need it!” Eve laughs as she heads out the door and leaves Q in peace.

 

Q does make it to the shower and digs out a spare outfit before going up to his weekly meeting with Mallory, which isn’t especially thrilling as miraculously no disasters have struck since their previous meeting. Just the usual check up on the progress of fixing up Q branch, and what R&D is working on. On the way out he asks Mallory if 007 showed up, and isn’t particularly surprised to hear that no, he hasn’t. He shakes his head as he makes the trek back down to the basement and wonders exactly what to make of Bond.

 

It’s not as if the two of them are friends. They’ve only spoken during the Silva situation and the subsequent mission Bond just returned from. Despite reading about all about the many losses 007 has weathered over the course of his time at MI6, Q is still impressed by how well the man functioned so soon after losing M and his childhood home. And perhaps more significantly, his Aston Martin. Any normal person would be a wreck. Though he supposes, normal isn’t exactly a job requirement around here, and from what he’s heard definitely doesn’t apply to 007. Well, time enough to worry about that later. He has a new weapon to play with.

 

Q makes his way gleefully down to the weapons testing room deep beneath MI6. It’s a renovated bomb shelter, and perfect for working out job-related stress via blowing things up. He set everything up last night, then decided a zombie-like state wasn’t the best for close proximity to explosions, so he’d reluctantly returned to his office to catch up on some sleep. With 007, apparently. His life is so bizarre.

 

He likes to do the preliminary testing on his own, because he doesn’t want any witnesses if it’s a failure. Well, that and because if it’s a success he wants to be able to jump around and whoop in excitement without anyone looking at him like he’s too old for that kind of thing. Acting like a professional is seriously overrated some days.

 

He picks up a small silver disk, pulls off the paper backing, and sticks it to the dummy at the far end of the room. He trots back and shuts himself into the observation room, even though it shouldn’t be necessary. He watches out the window and presses the yellow button on the small remote, followed by the green. The dummy twitches then begins to smoke, and Q grins as he checks the readings on his tablet. The electric pulse generated 20 milliamperes, definitely enough to stop a heart or short out most electronic devices.  

 

He runs a second disk over to the dummy, and this time he hopes the shelter is necessary as he heads back to the observation room. He bounces on his toes as he arms the device then presses the green button on another tiny remote. He makes an undignified sort of excited yelp when the dummy explodes rather spectacularly. _It works! Fuck yes!_ He does a little victory dance. He knows he should bring his team in to do the necessary double and triple checking and reports, and he will...right after he finds out what the explosive device does to the malfunctioning copy machine. This seems like a  far more efficient solution than explaining to M why he doesn’t want to just fix it for the tenth time this week. He practices his best maniacal laugh as he gleefully drags the offending machine into the center of the room. Sometimes, he decides, it’s extra good being him.

 

The rest of the day passes without incident in a haze of testing and documenting the new weapons. Then he has to go back to his office to deal with the pile of paperwork he’s been pretending doesn’t exist all week, but really needs to be finished before he heads home for the weekend. He’s looking forward to sleeping in and wasting at least half of tomorrow playing video games. Because he’s an adult, and he can do as he damn well pleases.

 

There is a knock at his door, and then Bond breezes in without waiting for a response. Q sighs. Possibly he should re-think his open door policy. “It’s very nearly eight, Bond, what do you need? I do actually plan on returning home this evening, so if you’re hoping for another slumber party you’re about to be disappointed.”   

 

Bond fixes Q with one of his more maddening smirks. “That was hardly a slumber party, Q. A slumber party should have popcorn at the very least. And a pillow fight leading to wrestling on the bed, hopefully as a precursor to other...activities.” Bond winks suggestively and leans against Q’s desk.

 

Q rolls his eyes. “Whatever it is you want, flirting will get you nowhere. I’ve no intention of granting you favors for feigned interest. I’m not a mark, 007.” Bond is undeniably attractive, but Q is relatively certain he’s also incapable of more than a fling, and Q has no desire to be just another conquest. Probably. No, definitely not.

 

For a fleeting moment Bond looks genuinely hurt, but he recovers quickly. “Is that what you told your admirer?” he asks, nodding towards the sofa.

 

Q looks over and blinks in surprise. There is a small box, wrapped in shiny blue paper and tied with a silver bow, resting on the center cushion of the sofa. “I have no idea where that came from.” He gets up and starts walking towards the sofa, only to have Bond grab him hard by the arm.

 

“What do you think you’re doing? If you don’t know where it came from it could be dangerous.” Bond fixes Q with his best no-nonsense glare.

 

“We need to work on your paranoia, agent,” Q grumbles as he walks back to his desk and pulls out a hand-held explosives detector.  

 

“Paranoia has served me well, actually. And you have a bomb detector in your office?”

 

“Apparently,” Q snarks, holding it out. “Would you like to do the honors? It’s probably just chocolates from Eve, sometimes she brings me snacks.”

 

“She never brings me snacks,” Bond complains as he checks the package.

 

Q watches in irritation with his hands on his hips. “That’s probably because you’d think they were laced with cyanide and bin them.”

 

“Well, she did fail to kill me once. Maybe she wants to rectify the situation,” Bond replies with an easy grin. “Okay, it seems fine.” He picks up the box and holds it out to Q, who eyes him suspiciously.

 

“Wait a minute. What exactly are you doing here, Bond? Did you plant that as an excuse to come down here and, I don’t know…” He waves his hands around vaguely. “Do sneaky spy things?”

 

“Spy things?” Bond looks like he’s barely holding back a laugh. “We need to work on your terminology, Quartermaster. And no, if I were to give you a gift, I would want you to know it was from me. That way you could thank me properly.”  

 

“How do you manage to make everything that comes out of your mouth sound remotely dirty?” Q asks.

 

“Ah, now that _is_ a gift,” Bond quips.

 

“Just hand over my damn present and tell me why you’re here,” Q groans. Bond looks like he’s actually considering honesty, and then their fingers brush as Q moves to take the package. There is a sudden blinding flash, and then darkness.

 

___________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 2

 

Q wakes up to the jarring sound of his office phone. He sits up groggily, rubbing at a kink in his neck. For a moment he’s confused, then he remembers the package and the flash of light and he sits up quickly to stares around his office in confusion. “What the...?”

 

Next to him, Bond startles awake and growls, “What the fuck just happened?”

 

“Like I know! What did you do?!” Q struggles to his feet and steps over Bond’s legs to answer the phone. “Q,” he says hesitantly.

 

 _Good morning dear, did I wake you up?_ Eve asks with obvious amusement. _I heard you slept at the office again, figured you could use some breakfast that doesn't come from the cafeteria. Would you prefer a cinnamon raisin bagel, or sesame seed? I know you have plenty of tea, but I can bring you one of those hideously sweet mochas you love._

 

“Eve? Didn’t you just bring me a bagel and a mocha yesterday?” Q asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

 

_Just how tired are you? You know I didn’t._

 

“Right. Yes. Okay. Ah, I’ll take a bagel and a mocha, yes. You’re a doll. See you in a bit,” Q rambles, then hangs up the phone and puts his glasses on so he can see Bond clearly. “That was the same exact thing she said to me yesterday. It’s...” He scrambles for his mobile and swipes his finger across it, then sinks down into his chair. “That’s not possible. It says November 5th.”

 

“Yesterday was November 5th,” Bond counters, digging his own mobile out of his pocket and checking it. “Damn things must be broken, right?”

 

Q powers up his computer and checks the date. “Shit. That’s just not- this is just- what the bloody hell was in that package? Hallucinogens? That must be it. We must be drugged.”

 

“And sharing a dream?” Bond asks, sounding dubious.

 

“Who says it’s shared? Maybe I’m having a nightmare, and you’re in it because my subconscious was thinking of you when I was knocked out.”

 

Bond looks affronted. “Hey! I’m the stuff of fantasy, not nightmare!”

 

Q spins his chair to face Bond and shouts, “Can we worry about your obsession with all things sexual when we aren’t, I don’t know, drugged, or have somehow gone back in time?! How about we concentrate on figuring out what the fuck is going on here!”

 

“Come on, Q. Gone back in time? This is real life, not science fiction. There has to be some logical explanation. Though, being drugged is a definite possibility. If I come to and find that you’ve somehow gotten us kidnapped I’m going to be seriously put out,” Bond warns.

 

“How is this even remotely my fault?!”

 

“It was your damn present!” Bond accuses.  “Look, there has to be an easy way to sort this out. Check the Daily Mail page or something.”

 

Q begins typing. “That won’t really prove anything. If we’re passed out, nothing we see can be believed. Shit, shit, shit. November 5th again. Okay, going with the drugged hypothesis, what do we do to wake up?”

 

“Wait it out I guess,” Bond replies unhelpfully.

 

“Excellent. Well while we’re waiting, how about we go find out if anything seems off out there.” He waves towards the door and looks at Bond expectantly.

 

“Okay...but yesterday I just left and went to my flat. Spent the day working out, napping, and wasting time watching crap telly while ignoring M’s calls. So I’m not sure I’d notice if anything was different around here.”

 

“Well just look around, then! You’re a spy, surely you can recognize weirdness when you see it!”

 

“I’m recognizing it right now, actually. You look a bit...frazzled, Q. I think before we leave this office you should at least comb your hair, or I won’t be held responsible for what people think we’ve been doing all night,” Bond points out with a smirk.

 

“How can you joke at a time like this?” Q asks as he digs in his drawer for a comb and begins running it through his tangled hair. Which okay, yes, could probably use a trim. “Either we’re drugged or we’ve gone back in time, and neither option sounds particularly appealing!”

 

“Trained in weirdness, remember,” Bond replies. “Besides, you seem to be panicking enough for both of us.” He stands and indicates towards the door. “Shall we?”

 

“Sorry. I had rather hoped the craziest part of my career was behind me after the whole Silva debacle. Should’ve known better, I suppose.”

 

“Welcome to MI6, Quartermaster,” Bond intones as he heads out the door with Q in tow.

 

They walk through Q branch, but aside from a few nervous glances at Bond everything seems normal. Q leads the way to the weapons testing room and checks his equipment. “This is impossible. I blew that dummy up yesterday!” he exclaims, his mind struggling to accept that if he isn’t drugged, it really is yesterday. Again.  

 

“And you didn’t invite me?” Bond asks, trying to sound unconcerned but Q can hear the tension in his voice.

 

“I need to speak with Mallory. If we’re drugged, we’ll wake up at some point and nothing I do here will matter. But if we skipped back twelve hours or so...the technology that could do that...it could be catastrophic, Bond.”

 

“If you say so….but  how exactly are you going to convince him you’re not crazy and end up sent down to Psych or Medical?”

 

“I don’t know! I’ll figure it out when I get there!” Q begins walking at top speed in the direction of the lifts with Bond trailing closely behind.

  
  


When Q wakes up from his now definitely drugged state an indeterminate amount of time later, he finds Bond perched on a chair next to him. “Well, that could have gone better,” he admits groggily. “I’m assuming this is Medical?”

 

Bond nods in amusement. “Got it in one. You’re here on watch for a minor psychotic breakdown induced by stress and exhaustion. Possibly you could have explained things to Mallory with slightly less crazed ranting. And definitely without destroying his model ship in a misguided attempt to explain time travel.”

 

“Possibly,” Q admits reluctantly. “What time is it?”

 

“Nearly five. I think they gave you a bit more of the tranquilizer than necessary for your skinny arse.”

 

“I’m not skinny, I’m slender,” Q protests. “So, three hours to go until we touched that package yesterday. Or today. Again. Damn, this is confusing. Well since I’m stuck here we just won’t touch it, and hopefully time will just keep moving forward as usual.”

 

“Hopefully?” Bond asks, clearly not loving the sound of that.

 

“Well how should I know? I’ve never time-travelled before! I don’t know how this works! But if we were drugged, I think being drugged and waking up in a dream would wake me up in real life...probably.”

 

“Sound science if I ever heard it,” Bond nods, then dodges the pillow Q flings at him.

 

“Shut up and find us some cards or something.”

 

“Cards?”

 

“Well if we’re stuck waiting around for a few hours, we need to keep occupied somehow. Unless you’d prefer to regale me with the story of your life?” Actually, that sounds pretty good.

 

“Cards it is,” Bond declares. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with just me for company. Eve tried to visit, but they said no more visitors for a while. Your nerves are fragile right now, apparently.”

 

“You repeat that to anyone and I’ll show you fragile, 007,” Q warns darkly.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bond promises, but his smile is a bit too innocent for Q’s liking.

 

They spend the time playing poker for sugar packets, and at a few minutes to eight they stop so Bond can keep an eye on his watch. They aren’t certain exactly what time the incident occurred, so they sit there tensely and wait for something to happen. Or not.  “Eight o’clock,” Bond says, looking up at Q. “Huh, well, looks like-”

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 3

 

Q wakes up to the jarring sound of his office phone. He sits up groggily, rubbing at a kink in his neck. A second later he realizes where he is, and turns nervously to look at the hazy figure lounging on the other end of the sofa.

 

“Well, fuck me sideways,” is Bond’s less-than-helpful comment.

 

Q rolls his eyes- he suspects he’s going to be doing a lot of that- and goes over to answer the phone. “We’ll have two cinnamon raisin bagels and two mochas. Ta Eve, you’re the best.” He hangs up and turns to face Bond. He decides to go for the easy question first. “How does that saying even make sense? I mean really, how do you fuck someone sideways?” He puts his glasses on so he can see the other man.

 

Bond looks considering. “Maybe spooning?”

 

“No, that’s lying sideways but still fucking forwards. I mean, it’s totally illogical. You don’t even have any orifices on your side,”Q points out.

 

“I do if I turn my head,” Bond smirks.

 

Q’s mind stutters for a moment because a: that’s a very distracting image, and b: yeah, it’s just a very distracting image. “That’s. Oh. I mean.” He shakes his head to clear it. “Can you stop thinking about sex for once and help me figure out what the hell is going on?” Q protests.

 

“Fine. But don’t think I didn’t notice that flicker of interest.”

 

“No. Just...no. If you want sex, this is the perfect opportunity for you to run out and indulge in illicit office flings. It’s not like they’ll remember anyways, since apparently we’re the only ones who remember today actually happening.”

 

Bond frowns in distaste. “That sounds suspiciously like a drugged effect. I prefer for my lovers to remember me in the morning, if it’s all the same to you.”

 

“Even though they have a tendency not to survive long after,” Q mutters under his breath. “Fine, then get used to celibacy until we sort out how to fix this,” Q states in what he hopes is a convincing voice.

 

“You seem much calmer about this today,” Bond says carefully, as if he’s afraid mentioning it will trigger another panicked episode.

 

“I’m allowed one panic attack over this, 007,” Q replies crossly. “You may be trained for impossible situations, but I’m not. I’ve never had everything I believe about the universe and the laws of time just tossed out the window before. But apparently this is a real thing. We’re caught in some sort of time loop, and we need to figure out how to get out of it. Gods I sound crazy just saying that,” he sighs. How is this his life?

 

“It might be best if we keep that little tidbit to ourselves. So, what do we do? Everything I know about time travel comes from tv shows and movies.”

 

“Same, I’m afraid. But there are scientists who study this sort of thing...we just need to find them. And figure out how that package got in here in the first place.”

 

“How do we even know the package shows up here every day? Last night we didn’t touch it, and we still ended up here. Maybe it was just the catalyst. And if we’re stuck in today, it’s not like you can review camera footage or ask anyone if they've seen anything, since technically it hasn’t happened yet.” Bond rubs the bridge of his nose. “This is going to give me a headache.”

 

“You’re not wrong. We don’t even know what sorts of things we can change. Like, can we leave the building? Is there a radius on this thing, or just a time? What happens if we aren’t together at eight? We’re going to have to change the variables every day to find out. Or, every today...we’re going to have to keep a mental count so we don’t get confused, I guess. Hopefully the effect will just wear off at some point.”

 

“Hopefully?”

 

“Well I don’t know, do I?” Q grits his teeth. “Sorry. It’s not your fault either, I just hate not knowing things. Knowing things is what I do.”

 

“I think you’re failing to see the bright side of this, Q,” Bond points out with a sly grin.

 

“Do I want to hear this?”

 

“Think about it. We can do whatever we want, and no matter the consequences, we get a clean slate the next day. Or the same one. Whatever.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want sex with people who were going to forget it.”

 

“Not sex, Q. Nothing morally ambiguous. I’m not about to blow the building up, or kill someone who doesn’t deserve it, just because it will all go back to normal tomorrow. Probably. I’m talking about the many ways we can have fun with this. We could use up all the ammunition in the firing range or see what happens when you use every explosive at once. Change everyone’s screen saver to a photoshopped picture of Mallory and Tanner as mermen...hack MI5 and play Elton John through all of their speakers...oh, building-wide indoor paintball competition!”

 

Q blinks at Bond in surprise. “You are an actual twelve-year old boy. I didn’t know you even had a sense of humor.”

 

Bond looks affronted. “I have an excellent sense of humor! There just hasn’t been occasion to use it lately,” he adds, with a rare look of utter honesty.

 

“Fair point. I’m sorry about that, I truly am.” Suddenly Q feels bad for not seeing Bond as an actual human being with feelings like anyone else. He hasn’t really done it consciously, but he supposes he has been viewing the agents as more akin to weapons than individuals. Huh, he’s kind of an arsehole himself it seems. “Okay, so we don’t go crazy we’ll mix research with fun. Sound acceptable?”

 

“Can we start with Eve?” Bond asks with a slightly evil grin.

 

“We do still have to deal with her for the rest of the day,” Q cautions.

 

“I can run fast. You?”

 

“I suppose…”

 

“Excellent,” Bond replies. “So, when does she show up?”

 

“About fifteen minutes. You’re not going to tell me what you’re up to, are you?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Fine. Make yourself useful, then.” Q tosses Bond a tablet. “Start googling experts in time travel.”

 

“That’s your plan? How am I going to tell the crazies apart from the theoretical experts?”

 

“Just save the links of anyone with letters after their name,” Q suggests, then turns to his own research. “Oh, and definitely look up Brian Cox.”

 

By the time Eve breezes in, Q is lost in brushing up on Einstein’s theory of general relativity, and he startles when the door opens.

 

“So, why am I bringing you two ooohmygod tell me I’m not delivering a post-shag breakfast!” Eve freezes halfway to Q’s desk and looks behind him in horrified alarm.

 

Q follows her gaze in confusion and gapes at the suddenly shirtless agent lounging on his sofa. He’d rather assumed the man was in good shape, but the reality is even better than he’d suspected. Or, you know, worse, given the situation. “I had nothing to do with that!” Q protests. “He just showed up and we fell asleep on the sofa. There was definitely no sex involved!”

 

Bond leans back a bit further and spreads his legs suggestively. “We were waiting for you for that part, actually.”

 

Eve narrows her eyes at Bond, who finally cracks and starts laughing. “You’re such a bastard!” She stalks over and punches Bond hard on the arm. “You just traumatized poor innocent Q!”

 

“Why does everyone always assume I’m so innocent? I broke dozens of rules to save his arse, didn’t I?” Q protests. “Okay, so I haven’t slept with half the population of England or been in high speed chases or shot someone off of a bridge, but that doesn’t make me innocent. Don’t look at me like that!” he says to the identical ‘aren’t you cute’ looks.

 

Eve pats Q on the head on her way out the door. “I need to get to work. Don’t get into too much trouble, boys. And Q, if you don’t want anyone else to assume sex was involved, you’re really going to want to do something about that hair.”

 

Once she’s gone Q turns to Bond with a mildly irritated look. “What was that all about?”

 

Bond looks distinctly unabashed as he pulls his shirt back on and begins doing up the buttons. “I was curious about something,” he shrugs. “She would definitely be into it, in case you’re wondering,” he smirks.

 

“There will be no sex with anyone while we’re trapped in this bizarre time loop!” Q declares, since it would probably be a horrible idea in the long run. He’s going to have to deal with Bond once they’re free, and he doesn’t think a 12 hr/who-knows-how-many-days fling is the way to make this any less complicated. Even if the idea is likely to become more tempting with each ‘day’ they’re stuck like this. Sod his _life._

 

“Fine,” Bond agrees, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. My apologies. At the risk of sounding like the lead in a terrible rom-com, I’ll just wait until you make the first move,” he adds with one of his trademark million-dollar smiles.

 

“You’ll be waiting a while in that case,” Q promises. He’s not entirely certain which of them he’s trying to convince.

 

“It’s not a ‘no,’ so I’ll take it. So, what’s the plan then? Should we play this day more like the first one, or try out new variables?”

 

“I wish I knew. For all I know nothing we do will make any kind of difference. I guess I’ll go to my meeting with Mallory again but definitely not say anything about the time loop, just to keep things normal. You can stay here and keep researching, and when I get back you may as well come watch things explode with me. That damn copier will have resurrected itself so we can blow it up again. Maybe for today we should stick around the building, and wait in here to see if the package shows up again.”

 

“Sounds like as good a plan as any,” Bond agrees as he walks over and takes a sip of his mocha. He grimaces. “Tomorrow, ask her for a plain espresso.”

 

Q goes to his meeting with Mallory and plays a game of trying to remember exactly what he said the first time, so his eyes don’t glaze over with boredom. When he finally escapes, he heads back down to find that Bond is already in the weapons testing room, which is now filled with rows of dummies and piles of random broken computers and machinery that they’ve been saving for parts. “Are you sure you have enough targets?”

 

“Well, I was considering how to get ahold of a tank or something, but I suppose that can wait for another day,” Bond replies with an air of disappointment.

 

Q basically just watches in growing amusement as cold-blooded assassin 007 gleefully destroys things with an assortment of guns, grenades, Q’s new prototype weapon, and a few old explosives even Q isn’t certain of since they came from Boothroyd’s less-than-clearly-marked archives. When Q produces a few exploding pens, the laugh and look of pure joy on Bond’s face produces an unexpected jolt of affection. He’s never seen the agent so...happy. It’s mesmerizing. And problematic as hell.  

 

When the room is a smoking ruin, they test the boundaries of the phenomenon by going out to a late lunch at a local Sushi restaurant Bond suggests. They get more than a few confused looks on their way out the door, but Bond just smiles and waves like nothing is wrong. Which has the same effect as his waving a gun, apparently, since most of the hapless employees look distinctly concerned for their safety. “Well, nothing happened,” Bond remarks as he peruses the menu.

 

“Must just be a time thing then, which I guess makes more sense. Though the entire world being trapped in a time bubble is a rather disturbing concept.”

 

“If this happens again tomorrow, we should definitely check on some statistics and see how much money we can make by betting on horse races and sporting events around the world,” Bond suggests with a gleam in his eye.

 

“What would be the point? It would all disappear again the next day. Even when time decides to keep moving forward, I think it’s logical to assume that first day was the ‘real’ timeline and the one everyone else will remember,” Q points out.

 

“Fun, Q. The point is fun. Don’t you ever just have fun?”

 

“Do you?” Q counters petulantly. “Because according to your files, it appears you’ve hardly had time for it. Unless blowing things up while on missions counts.”  

 

“Not really, no. Truthfully, today was more good clean fun than I’ve had in years. So I’m sorry if it seems like I’m not taking this situation seriously enough, but I figure we may as well take it as the gift it was apparently meant to be. I mean, if someone did lock us in some bizarre time loop, it’s not likely we’re going to be able to get out of it on our own, is it? And even if it was some odd weapons-testing thing from an enemy of England, clearly they don’t know how to control it either.”

 

Q blinks at Bond in surprise. “You like this. You do realize you’re stuck with me for the duration of this craziness, right? If there even is an end to it. Oh my god, what if we’re immortal, but trapped in the same twelve hours forever?!”

 

“Well so far, you’ve turned out to be surprisingly good company, actually, so I don’t think I’ll mind that part. And how do we know we’re immortal? If we die, do we stay dead or show up again the next day- same day- whatever.”

 

“You are not jumping off a building to test that!” Q says, feeling mildly panicked at the idea. “You will _not_ leave me alone here, and that’s an order!”

 

“Alright, but just for the sake of science…” Bond unbuttons his cuf, rolls up his shirt a few inches, then lifts his wrist up to his mouth and bites down hard enough to bruise.

 

“Are you crazy?!” Q exclaims, reaching out automatically and catching Bond by the hand to drag his wounded skin close enough to inspect it for major damage. He runs the fingers of his other hand gently over the dark bite mark.

 

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve finally had that mental breakdown everyone is always expecting me to have and _I’m_ actually the one hallucinating all of this.” Bond sounds distinctly panicked.

 

“Ah, so it just took you a bit longer to freak out about this. I feel better now, actually,” Q says, though for reasons he can’t explain he keeps his loose hold on Bond’s wrist. “So why exactly do you think you might be having a psychotic episode?”

 

“You’re honestly asking me that? You've seen my files, Q. You were there right after I dragged myself back from the dead. When I lost M. I’m- there’s no one left, Q. I’m only still here because I don’t- Just- Trust me, Q. I’m far more likely to go crazy than I am to be stuck in a time loop.”

 

“Does this hurt?” Q asks, pressing his thumb against the bite mark.

 

Bond hisses. “Yes.”

 

“Well nothing hurts in a dream, so you can’t be dreaming. Also, if this was some sort of dream-induced state then I would do everything you wanted, wouldn’t I? I highly doubt your subconscious would let you hallucinate someone who tells you sex isn’t going to happen. Or that you’d hallucinate me at all, really.”

 

Bond only looks mildly convinced. “Q?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You’re still holding my hand, and it’s not exactly helping you make your case.”

 

Q lets go quickly and tries- and fails- not to blush. “Right. Sorry. I’m certain I’m real though, and besides, you have to admit this is far too real to be a dream. All the laws of physics still apply. We can use all five senses. As impossible as it sounds, we’ve eliminated all the other possible solutions and what remains is that we’ve gone back in time. Twice.”

 

“Well then, If this is all going to re-set in five hours I’m definitely having the puffer fish. And an entire bottle of Sake. You can have one too. We should definitely take advantage of being able to get drunk with zero risk of a hangover,” Bond concludes.

 

“That’s not exactly…” Q sighs. “You know what? Sod it. Two bottles of Sake it is.”

 

Two hours later Bond sneaks them in through a delivery door around back, since he decides Q isn’t acting terribly sober.

 

“Not a word,” Q warns as he has to try twice to get a grip on the door handle. Of course Bond himself, the arsehole, isn’t even walking crooked. At least he isn’t doing anything irritating like holding Q up, though Q does feel a hand does press lightly against the small of his back to steady him from time to time. He decides to allow it, since it feels rather nice and he’s concentrating too hard on walking in a straight line to spare any focus for irritation.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bond replies, and Q can actually hear the smirk in his voice.

 

Q waves in what he hopes is a casual manner to the few people they pass, and once they are back in his office he flops gratefully onto the sofa. “This is why I don’t get drunk often. I dislike feeling like I can’t control my body, or regulate the words coming out of my mouth. How are you so functional? It’s unfair.”

 

“Years of practice, Q. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it,” Bond says as he sits on the other side of the sofa. “So, we still have a few hours until eight...want to tell me the story of your life?”

 

“I’m insulted you think I can condense twenty-nine years into a few hours,” Q grumbles, propping his feet up onto the coffee table.

 

“Damn. I guessed you were only twenty-seven,” Bond replies with a sly grin.

 

“Hey! No fair using your manipulative interrogation skills on me while I’m drunk,” Q complains. “How about you tell me part of your life story instead. The part not in your files.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like...what did you do for fun as a kid? What kind of trouble did you get into living in the middle of nowhere? What did you want to be when you grew up? I feel like I should know you better, seeing as we’re going to be spending an awful lot of time together.”

 

“I wanted to be a paleontologist, and discover new dinosaurs. And a dinosaur egg I could hatch, of course. Figured I’d start in my own back yard. I was murder on my mother’s gardens,” Bond admits with a nostalgic sort of smile. Followed immediately by a look of surprise that he’d actually answered the question.

 

“Oh so did I! Only I tried to create one using frog eggs and my first science kit. Epic disaster. Good to know you were a normal kid. Keep going,” Q prods, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He thinks he stands a better chance of Bond agreeing if it looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

 

It works. At first Bond sounds reticent, as if he’s speaking under some sort of interrogative duress. But once he realizes Q isn’t going to break in with commentary or criticism, he seems to relax and actually enjoy telling old stories. Which of course he does, Q thinks. Who doesn’t love to tell stories about themselves to an interested audience? Perhaps no one has thought to ask for these sorts of stories though. He supposes stories of Bond’s thrilling spy days are far more popular in terms of ‘getting to know you’ conversations.Q suddenly wonders if that’s a big part of why the man never seems to date.

 

After a highly enjoyable few hours of laughing at the more ridiculous stories, and then offering up bits of his past in response to Bond’s, Q finds he feels rather reluctant to point out the time. “We have around two minutes to go,” he states, smiling at Bond’s incredulous look. “Admit it, you were actually having fun. No matter what happens, I’d be okay with continuing this. I owe you my own stories, after all,” Q says, picking at a bit of lint on his trousers and then frowning at the nervous gesture.

 

“Alright,” is all Bond offers.

 

“Really?”

 

“It may have escaped your notice Q, but I don’t have many friends left. There’s Tanner, but he’s married and busy. And then there’s you, apparently.”

 

“We’re friends now?” Q asks, feeling inordinately pleased.

 

“I know you were hoping I’d say I’ve fallen madly in love already, but alas, all the Disney films lied to you. I think spending a few days together qualifies us as friends though, yes,” Bonds smirks.

 

“You’re an arse, and I’ve no idea why I like you,” Q replies, utterly failing to mask his amusement.

 

“It’s probably because I’m positively perfect in every way,” Bond replies, looking at Q like he’s waiting for something to click in.

 

A second later it does, and Q groans. “What was that about Disney films lying? I can’t believe you just quoted _Mary Poppins_.”  

 

“I have layers, Q. Like an onion.” Bond winks.

 

Q just gapes. “You’ve seen _Shreck_?!”

 

“Clearly you haven’t taken into account the number of hours an agent has to do fuck-all while on missions. Surely you’re aware of the ‘secret’ drives on the MI6 servers. If a movie or show exists, it’s on there. Probably before it hits theatres.”

 

Q looks shifty. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. That falls under our own ‘Don’t ask, Don’t tell’ policy.”

 

“Whatever you say, Q. You know, if we’re stuck here-”

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 4

 

Q wakes up to the jarring sound of his office phone. He sits up groggily, rubbing at a kink in his neck. “Well that answers the question about the package,” he mumbles. “You know, this whole not actually remembering sleep thing is getting weird. It’s like being awake for days straight, but not getting tired. Well, any more tired that is,” he states as he slouches over to his desk and picks up the phone. “‘Morning Eve. A mocha and an an espresso would be lovely. You’re wonderful,” he adds before hanging up and putting on his glasses so he can focus on Bond.

 

“So what, that present was like a fixed point in time?” Bond rolls his eyes at Q’s raised brows. “I have seen Doctor Who, Q, but that’s pretty much the full extent of my time-travel knowledge. Which at this point, as unbelievable as it is, is apparently what’s going on.”

 

“I agree. But I have no idea what to do about it. I don’t think it’s enemy technology, because logistically this would be a pointless way of testing it. You would first test it on yourself, or someone friendly to your cause, to see if it worked. And if it did work, I hardly think we would be the intended targets. Especially if nothing we do actually remains past 8pm...a time loop really is useless as a weapon. Unless it isn’t supposed to loop...but then we are back at you would test it until it actually worked. My brain hurts. Speaking of brains, how is it that our memories remain when everything else re-sets? Oh, how’s your arm?” Q walks over to Bond and watches while he undoes his cuff to reveal unblemished skin. “Okay that’s even more impossible. If everything heals, our memories should also vanish. But they don’t.”  

 

“Are you saying someone must be doing this to us on purpose?” Bond asks, jumping to the logical conclusion.

 

“I’m saying...it rather looks that way, yes. This just doesn’t seem like the sort of thing God, or whatever higher power you want to believe in, would go in for though….”

 

“I don’t believe in God with a capital G,” Bond states with conviction.

 

“Well someone is obviously fucking with us, and I don’t appreciate it,” Q grumps.

 

“Ignoring the question of ‘who’ for the moment...I’m more interested in the ‘why’ of it all. What’s the point in trapping the two of us in one of the most boring days imaginable? I mean, nothing actually _happens_ today.”

 

“That’s a fair point.” Q flops down onto the sofa next to Bond. “Is it some sort of a quest? I mean, do we need to do something for the day to end?”

 

“You know, some sort of help would be nice!” Bond shouts at the ceiling, then looks at Q sheepishly when nothing happens. “Well, you never know.”

 

“Right. Well, what do you think we should do?”

 

“I don’t know about you, but I think we should just have fun with it. I get if you want to keep researching time travel or whatever, but I don’t think it’s going to be terribly helpful in this situation because someone is obviously bending the rules. If there even are rules.”

 

“You’re right about the research. Maybe it won’t help, but I feel the need to satisfy my own curiosity. I don’t need to do it all day every day- or just today over and over...seriously, my brain. Ouch. What did you have in mind?”

 

“How do you feel about getting popcorn watching the fallout over the security cameras while messing with people all day long?” Bond’s grin is distinctly evil.

 

Q thinks about objecting, then decides to hell with it. “Once Eve leaves, you can help me move the the sofa so it faces the monitors on my desk.” He chooses to ignore the way Bond’s pleased smile does strange things to his stomach.

 

They let a confused Eve go without traumatizing her this time, then re-arrange Q’s office. While Q goes to his increasingly boring meeting with Mallory, Bond goes in search of snacks. Q returns to find what appears to be the entire contents of the building’s vending machines spilled across the coffee table. “Well at least we won’t starve,” he observes as he picks up his wireless keyboard and mouse and joins Bond on the sofa.

 

“This is the one time where ‘there’s no such thing as calories on X day’ is actually a thing, Q. We may as well take advantage of it.”

 

“Fair point,” Q agrees as he reaches out to snag a bag of chocolate chip cookies. “So, what did you have in mind?”

 

M leaves for a meeting outside the building, so they start by overriding all of the computers to send out a message from Q informing all of the employees that they will be taking a break to watch a training video provided by the CIA. Then they watch in amusement as the confused population of MI6 watches _Blazing Saddles_ over every monitor and tv screen in the building.

 

Next they send a few dozen copies of a sheet of paper reading only, “It is impossible to lick your own elbow,” and watch as nearly everyone surreptitiously tries it.

 

Q does change everyone’s wallpaper, but to a photoshopped picture of Mallory in place of Rose, dancing with Captain Jack Harness. He adds, “First annual caption contest. Post your submission here,” with a link to a page visible to all MI6 employees. They spend the next few hours laughing at the more creative submissions while coming up with plans for future days.

 

When M returns to a very confused populace, he finds a kiss-o-gram in his office. A male kiss-o-gram. Wearing a kilt. It takes them a good half hour to recover, and even then they can’t look at each other without bursting into laughter again.

 

They play a list of increasingly obnoxious songs over the building’s speaker system, order a mime to perform in the middle of the cafeteria, and then set off a fire alarm so that a harassed M finally sends everyone but a skeleton crew home early. Q stays, of course, after assuring the man he’s doing everything in his power to figure out what’s going on.

 

By the time it’s nearly eight o’clock, Q wonders what it says about him that this was one of the best days of his life. And he spent it primarily on a sofa with James Bond. Which is just a whole other level of weird than the weirdness already defining his current existence.

 

Just before the seemingly inevitable end to their day, Bond turns to Q and gives a little salute. “We should do this again sometime,” he says with a smirk.

 

Q rolls his eyes, but before he can reply there is the now familiar sensation of what he imagines a portkey would feel like.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 5

 

Q wakes up to the jarring sound of his office phone. He sits up groggily, rubbing at a kink in his neck. “What were you saying about doing this again?” he comments as he makes his way over to the phone, picks it up, and hangs up again. “She’ll show up with the coffee and bagel regardless,” he shrugs. “So, what are we going to do today?” he asks as he puts his glasses back on.

 

Bond yawns and stretches. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some exercise. Want to start that ‘badassery training’ you were talking about yesterday?”

 

“Don’t get a bigger head about this than you already have, 007,” Q grumps. All he needs is for Bond to start getting all cocky, because apparently confidence really is an attractive quality, which could prove problematic while wearing thin workout gear. Yeah, there is the possibility that this was not one of his better laid plans.  “I only meant it would give us something to do, and it couldn’t hurt for me to learn more than basic self defense. Besides, we agreed I could trade you for ‘genius training.’”

 

“Teach me to make exploding pens and my life will be complete,” Bond agrees with a devious look.

 

“Fine. But you realize you’re starting at the ground level here. I’m going to need to teach you something about chemistry and engineering first.” Which the man will probably excel at, while Q himself is likely to make a complete idiot of himself while trying to learn how to fight.  

 

“As long as you realize I’m not teaching you how to kill a man with your bare hands until you can throw a perfect punch,” Bond replies.

 

“That’s fair I suppose. I’ll meet you down in the gym after my meeting with Mallory.”

 

A little over two hours later Q is sweating and lying pinned beneath Bond’s ridiculously muscular body. Which he knows ought to terrify him, but his rebellious body refuses to find anything other than intriguing. No, definitely not one of his better laid plans, he decides as he shoves Bond off of him. “How about you try not to smother me to death. What happened to just teaching me how to punch?”

 

“I got bored,” Bond shrugs, dancing away with a shit-eating plastered on his face.

 

“We’ve only been at this for an hour! What are you going to do if we’re stuck here for years of the same day?!” Q gets up and straightens his crooked glasses.

 

“Knock you down a lot?” Bond suggests, then makes a satisfying ‘oomph’ noise when Q catches him unawares and with a clumsy kick to the stomach.

 

A few seconds later Q is staring up at the ceiling again as Bond laughs, and it’s the first time Q has heard him sound so unreservedly happy, even after all their pranks yesterday. It’s an unfairly addictive sound. Yeah, this plan is crap.

 

Once Bond decides he is finished basically making Q feel completely hopeless, they shower before heading back up to Q branch. And Bond singing off-key classic rock in his shower stall then wandering around in only a towel is yet another unfair thing in the long list of unfair things that currently comprise Q’s life.

 

They go out to lunch, this time at an Indian restaurant Q favors. He insists on remaining sober this time so Bond can focus, because he refuses to teach explosives while either of them are under the influence. To Bond’s disappointment, the instruction doesn’t yet go beyond theoretical but he still manages to pay close attention. Possibly too close. Had putting on after cologne after his shower _really_ been necessary?

 

When they get tired of that, Bond suggests they play poker. He bets Q that he will never be able to figure out Bond’s tell, and tries insisting he doesn’t have one. If Q can find it, Bond promises he will do any one thing Q asks; and that is just too good to pass up on. They are still playing when the seemingly inevitable flash and fade-to-black arrives.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 29

 

The next few ‘weeks’ of technically the same day pass in a similar fashion. Lather, rinse, repeat. It should be more irritating than it is, really, but it still feels a bit like a vacation to Q and Bond seems to agree. Q is getting slightly better at the fighting moves Bond is teaching him, but likes to complain that while he remembers how to do it, his muscle memory vanishes every day so it’s like making his body move in ways it isn’t convinced is possible, but his mind is. It’s a bizarre feeling.

 

Bond has finally progressed to putting an actual exploding pen together, and Q is finally going to let him test it ‘tomorrow’ if he can build it all from scratch again. Bond argues it is equally unfair that all of his work vanishes at the end of the day so he is always having to start over again. Which Q supposes is a fair point, but it forces Bond to learn to work quickly and efficiently at the same time.

 

They go out to eat at different restaurants. They play poker. Q researches time travel and explains his theories to Bond. They blow things up. They watch movies. They get drunk and tell stories. In short, they become best friends in a relatively short amount of time. Bond is true to his word, and the only time he touches Q is during their sparring sessions. He still makes plenty of suggestive jokes and he probably couldn’t quit subtly flirting if he tried, but he doesn’t make any attempt to actively come onto Q at all. Q is going quietly insane. He hasn’t had any sort of sexual release in far too long, aside from a few quick wanks in the loo while trying unsuccessfully not to think of Bond’s smile. Or his chest. Or his arse. Or his stupid blue eyes. He’s going to do something stupid soon, he just knows it. _Fuck._

 

______________________________________________________________________________     

 

Day 30

 

Q wakes up to the jarring sound of his office phone. He sits up groggily, rubbing at a kink in his neck. He’s getting really sick of the sore neck thing. He continues rubbing it as he goes over to answer the phone. “Eve?...Of course I know it’s you, I have caller I.D….you know, I’m not feeling so well. I’m just going to head home...Ta though, talk to you later.” He puts his glasses on and turns to Bond, who looks surprised at the new dialogue.

 

“Change in plans today? Also, want me to do something about that neck? I’ve noticed it seems sore for a while every morning.”

 

Q hesitates. He wants the massage Bond is apparently offering, but he’s rather nervous about what it will do to his fading sense of control where it comes to his new friend. His irritatingly gorgeous new friend. His irritatingly gorgeous new friend who would be excellent in bed if his fighting technique is any indication.

 

“Come on Q, I won’t bite,” Bond promises in a voice that implies he would very much like to but enough control to assure Q he won’t.

 

Q walks forward seemingly on auto-pilot and sits cross-legged in front of Bond without comment. His traitorous mind considers the fact that Bond could bite as hard as he wanted and the marks would just vanish the next day. A perk of this stupid time loop he has been trying very, very hard not to think about, but now that he is...honesty, sod his life. He bites back a sigh of relief when Bond’s warm hands begin massaging the tight muscles of his neck and shoulders, and studiously ignores the way Bond’s breathing speeds up audibly.

 

“Q-” Bond begins hesitantly after a few minutes of glorious rubbing.

 

Q pulls away and cuts him off. “I need to get out of here. It’s not you, it’s me. I need- I just need some space before I do something- yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. May as well see what happens when we’re apart. It’s, ah, good science. Right. Bye,” he rambles, before practically sprinting out the door like the coward he is.

 

He heads outside, and because he doesn’t feel like dealing with the tube and money is a temporary construct right now, he takes a cab back to his flat. It feels strange walking in, because everything is the same but it feels like he’s been away for a month since this is the thirtieth time he’s experienced today. It’s surreal.

 

He wanders his flat, aimlessly doing the dishes still in the sink and putting away a pile of laundry while wondering what to do about the Bond issue. No, it’s more like a full blown situation than a mere issue. He may as well admit it. It may be uncharacteristic for him, but right now he wants them to fuck until it hurts. Wants bite marks and bruises from fingers gripping too hard, wants angry red welts from short nails digging into yielding skin. It doesn’t even matter that he hasn’t historically had much rough sex in the past; he wants it now. Maybe it’s the simmering frustration of the repeated day, despite how much he’s been enjoying himself. Maybe it’s a solid month of being on the receiving end of Bond’s not-so-innocent smiles, of feeling his strength while they train, and rarely being out of range of that damn intoxicating cologne. There’s also that fact that it turns out Bond is funny and smart and okay, aside from the sexual infatuation Q may have developed a slight crush on the man. The kind where ‘slight’ translates as ‘epic.’  

 

Q flops down on his sofa, notes that it feels strange without Bond sitting on the other side, and transfers to his recliner. He realizes he should be talking to Bond about this instead of running away to hide in his flat, because now Bond probably thinks he’s completely juvenile and it’s going to be all awkward between them. Especially since it’s not like he can actually get away for long. He’s going to wake up on a sofa with the man in a few hours. _Shit._  Maybe he should just go back. No, he can’t go back yet. Not without a plan. He’s excellent at plans, which is a large part of why M hired him. Unfortunately, all of his current attempts at planning end up derailed by mental images of skin-on-skin and musings on whether his guess of Bond’s cock being fifteen centimeters while half-hard is accurate, based on the few times it’s been pressed against him while sparring. And that is a distinctly unhelpful thought.

 

Thoughts of Bond naturally turn to the many hours Q has spent studying him closely and searching unsuccessfully for a tell while they play poker. Admittedly, it has been an excellent excuse to stare at the man without it being considered strange. At this point he thinks that if he had any skill at drawing he could render a flawless image including every wrinkle, freckle, the shifting colors in his stubble and each tiny scar. That slightly crooked smile and off-kilter set of the ridiculous ears Q really wants to nibble on and no, this is not a helpful train of thought either.

 

Q closes his eyes and wonders what Bond is doing right now, and what he’s thinking about Q running away because of a simple backrub. He probably thinks Q is profoundly uninterested, and possibly horrified. Maybe he’s freaking out too, or worse, maybe he’s upset because he feels rejected, and rejection is an awful feeling which Q is all too familiar with given his abysmal dating history, and _shit._ Neither of those scenarios is at all acceptable. Q digs his mobile out of his pocket and takes a deep breath. If Bond can run around being stupidly brave all the time, then he may as well give it a shot. He thinks about dialing, then bites his lip and opts to send a text. His brand of bravery involves baby steps, apparently.

 

He considers what to say and finally settles on just sending his address followed by, _So apparently panicking is a thing I do. Sorry. I think we should have sex._ Well, that should work. He gets up and makes his bed, since he left it a pile of tangled blankets. He sets a bottle of lube on the end table, debates about condoms, then remembers it really doesn’t matter since he’s clean and even in the unlikely event that Bond has anything transmittable the resetting of the day makes it irrelevant. Yep, definite silver linings. Then he takes a quick shower and debates putting his clothes back on, before just settling for wearing his robe and waiting nervously for Bond to arrive. He didn’t reply to the text, but Q knows he won’t be able to resist showing up. Hopefully.

 

He tries to envision what will happen but he’s too nervous to get past the idea of Bond swooping in, tearing his robe off, and kissing him. The thought of being naked while Bond is still fully clothed is startlingly appealing, and by the time the buzzer sounds to let Bond up he’s already been hard for a good ten minutes. He leaves his door open a few inches and waits, his stomach fluttering with anticipation.

 

Fantasy proves to be a cruel mistress yet again since Bond does not, in fact, swoop in. He steps in almost cautiously, shuts the door behind him, and stares at Q with a complicated expression of surprise, confusion and desire. Then he leans against the door and crosses his arms as if he isn’t quite sure what to do with them. “What happened to no sex while we’re stuck in this time loop?” Bond asks carefully, his eyes darting down to where the robe has slipped open to expose Q’s chest.

 

Q fidgets with the tie of his robe. This is not how he wanted things to go at all. Maybe Bond is just making sure he has _permission_ to get Q naked and fuck him on the nearest available surface. “I changed my mind. I now think we should have as much sex as possible while trapped in this time loop. Starting right now.”  

 

Bond takes one hesitant step forward, clearly fighting some sort of internal battle that Q has no patience for. Since when did Bond become the one who had to be talked into bed? Unless Q has been reading this all wrong and he really isn’t interested...an uncomfortable dread settles into his stomach in place of the butterflies. “Shit. Bond, I’m sorry if- if you don’t-”

 

Bond’s look of uncertainty turns suddenly feral. “No, I do. I definitely do. I just-”

 

Q cuts Bond off by flinging himself into the man’s arms, because he doesn’t want to talk right now. Later. He knows some sort of conversation about whatever this is will have to happen, but it can wait. Q loops his arms around Bond’s neck so he can make an awkward scramble up to wrap his legs around the man’s waist. Unfortunately, his robe slips open and he manages to scrape the sensitive skin of his cock on the buckle of the belt he’d forgotten Bond was wearing. “Ow!” he yelps, then tries to cover for his mistake by sucking Bond’s lower lip into his mouth. Bond chooses that exact moment to stumble under Q’s awkward, flailing weight and Q bites down rather harder than he was intending.

 

“Shit! Q, this isn’t a bloody porno,” Bond gripes, getting a better grip on Q’s arse and halting their near tumble down onto the floor. “What’s your rush?”

 

“What’s my rush? Are you serious?” Q stares at Bond through skewed glasses and ruts against his stomach. Which okay, would be far more comfortable without the buttons in the way. “I’ve been in a near constant state of sexual frustration for far too long, that’s what! I don’t want slow. Wait, did you want slow? I mean, I guess as long as you’re willing to at least bite then-”

 

Bond honest-to-god growls, then turns and walks a few steps to slam Q’s back into the door before kissing him fiercely. “Do you ever stop talking?” Bond asks, using the door to keep Q up so he can untie the robe and yank it off before reclaiming Q’s mouth.

 

Q makes a strangled sort of ‘nuh uh’ sound and works his hands between them to begin clawing at the offending buttons. They aren’t cooperating, and Q has always wanted to try this, so...he grips both sides of the shirt and pulls his hands apart hard. “It works!” he pants against Bond’s lips, thrilled as buttons go flying.

 

Bond pulls back and gives Q an impressed yet dirty smile. “That was unexpected.”

 

“I can be sexy,” Q pouts, rather put-out that Bond doesn’t see him as the shirt-ripping type of guy. He tries to shove the shirt and suit jacket down Bond’s arms, but he can only get so far because Bond’s arms are still holding him up. He squirms a bit and tries to make it work, then gives up and leans forward to suck a pink mark onto the side of Bond’s neck. “You should carry me to bed so I can get you naked too” Q orders, fixing his teeth over the mark and biting down hard.

 

Bond hisses and grips Q even tighter. “I definitely should, yes,” he agrees, and moves to do just that. He manages not to drop Q, which is impressive given how much Q is writhing and holding on with only one arm while trying to reach down and undo Bond’s buckle as they walk. They tumble onto the bed and Q immediately wriggles until he’s on top and undoes the buckle and button then hooks his hands into the waistband and pulls hard.

 

It’s Bond’s turn to yelp as the sudden friction drags against his hardening cock in a less-than-comfortable manner. “Shit! Careful Q, I have a feeling you’re going to want me to use that,” he growls as he gets rid of the shirt and coat.

 

“I’ll kiss it better in a second,” Q promises as he drags the trousers and pants down, only to get them stuck on Bond’s shoes. This is turning out to be far less ideal than he pictured it, he allows as he struggles to get the object of his desire naked. He finally manages it, then swallows hard as he looks up at all of that gorgeously exposed skin. He doesn’t know where to start, which is probably why he rather starts everywhere.

 

“Christ Q, settle down! It’s like trying to fuck an octopus,” Bond gripes, though his voice is full of laughter while his arms are full of squirming, licking, biting, rutting Q. Q who flat out refuses to stay still long enough for Bond to do much more than lie there and let himself be enthusiastically explored.

 

“Easy for you to say. You have sex all the time, and you’re not the one with an infuriatingly perfect man in his bed. Are you sure you’re not photoshopped? Because this is just _unfair_ ,” Q rambles, his words rather mangled by the way he is also biting his way down Bond’s torso and tracing the ridges of muscles with his tongue. He scoots down farther to scratch at the insides of Bond’s thighs as he noses at the base of his testicles, then licks his way up to get at the clear bead of pre-cum at the head of Bond’s cock. “You even taste incredible. I mean no, that’s what they say in awful pornos, forget I said that.”

 

“So that’s a no, you don’t ever stop talking then,” Bond says fondly as he makes a fist in Q’s hair. “Is this okay?”

 

It’s incredible, actually. Q shivers. “Very okay. Like I said, slow and gentle can happen later,” he points out before gripping the base of Bond’s erection and sucking eagerly on the head. He indulges in sliding the ridge in and out of his mouth for a few moments before checking if his gag reflex is still nearly non-existent. So that’s a yes, he thinks as Bond bucks and makes a choked sort of moan as a second hand finds its way into his hair. He is so thrilled this is actually happening that he rather forgets about technique.

 

Bond yelps again as Q’s teeth scrape along the sensitive skin of his cock. “Fuck! Watch it, Q! Not that I don’t appreciate this, but I’d prefer you save the bite marks for the rest of my body.”

 

Q mumbles an apology around his mouthful, which strikes him as amusing, which means he laughs and almost chokes himself. A moment later he’s being hauled back up by ridiculously strong arms. “Hey! I’ll be more careful, promise. I just got a bit over-excited.”

 

“Clearly,” Bond states, a smile making his eyes crinkle delightfully.  “I think it would be in my best interests to calm you down a bit before you cause either of us permanent damage.” Bond rolls them smoothly so Q is pinned beneath him. He leans down and kisses Q in what is obviously meant to be a soothing kiss, but Q is having none of it.

 

Q whines and plants his feet on the bed so he can push his hips up into Bond’s delicious heat and strength and skin, all of that glorious skin. He drags his blunted nails down Bond’s back and growls in frustration as their cocks brush because it isn’t nearly enough. “I have a better idea,” he pants. “How about you getting equally excited. I’m not going to break, dammit, and even if you do hurt me- which you know, actually sounds kind of amazing at the moment- I’ll be all better in about nine hours.”

 

Bond bites his lip and grinds his hips down and looks like he wants to be convinced, but he’s still uncertain. “And you’ll tell me if I go too far?”

 

“Yes! We’re both consenting adults here. I’m asking you to fuck me hard and cover me in bite marks and scratches and generally lose control. Now, is that a thing you want to do?” Q digs his fingers into Bond’s firm arse and undulates his hips as he waits for a reply. He knows Bond wants this. He _knows_ it. Q can actually see the moment Bond surrenders, and it’s the biggest turn-on he’s ever experienced.

 

Bond gets a fist in Q’s hair and jerks his head back, then bites down hard on the taut skin below Q’s jaw as he drags his nails up Q’s side. “Fuck but you’re gorgeous like this,” Bond intones in a low voice as Q whines and squirms beneath him. He licks his way down to Q’s collarbone and leaves a line of welted teeth marks across it.  

 

“Lube,” Q manages, rather surprised he can still form words. “I want you inside of me while you do that.”

 

Bond leans over to grab the bottle and coats the fingers of his right hand with it. He considers what position would be best for a moment, which is too long for Q.

 

Q huffs and takes the bottle from Bond and dumps some messily into his right hand. He reaches out and coats Bond’s erection, biting his lip at the heady sensation of the heated length against his palm. He smears the rest between his legs and grabs Bond’s hand so he can drag the man’s fingers down where he wants them. “I want to see you this time. I can flip over later if you’d prefer.”

 

Bond brushes two fingers teasingly over Q’s entrance and grins as Q growls in frustration. “Hush now. There’s a difference between good pain and bad pain, and if it’s alright with you I’ll stick to the former.” He presses one finger in slowly and leans down to bite the inside of Q’s thigh.

 

 _Finally_ , Q thinks, trying his best to press back for more because even though it definitely isn’t comfortable it’s amazing. Bond’s finger is inside of him and the very idea has his cock twitching. Suddenly he wishes he had a mirror on his ceiling so he could watch. Maybe they can arrange that later. “I’m fine, just- inside of me,” he orders, clawing at Bond’s biceps.

 

Bond gives Q a ‘you’re cute if you think that’s happening’ look and drags his nails down Q’s chest as he presses a second finger in steadily, ignoring the resistance even though he looks like he knows it hurts and is warring between enjoying it and feeling slightly bad about it.

 

Q makes a frustrated noise because for whatever reason, right now he wants it to hurt. Wants too much, wants nearly unbearable intensity and Bond is apparently still determined to be a gentleman about this. Which would normally be appreciated, but he isn’t in a normal mood at all. He pushes at Bond’s shoulders. “You know what? Let’s switch. If I’m in charge you can stop worrying about me not liking that you’re hurting me,” he says as he sits up and urges Bond down onto his back and straddles him.

 

Bond looks both relieved and turned on by the idea, and his hands come immediately to grip Q’s hips firmly. He looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can Q lines the head of his cock up and slides down onto it until his arse is resting on Bond’s thighs.

 

 _Bloody fucking hell, shit shit shit,_ Q screams internally as he throws his head back and his entire body goes rigid with the sudden onslaught of pain. Thankfully he doesn’t actually scream. In fact, he forgets to even breathe and his nails dig vicious half-moon marks into Bond’s chest as he tries to force himself to relax. It feels as if liquid nitrogen is coursing through his veins instead of blood and his mind is a riot of _no, no, bad idea_ and _oh, yes, oh, I’ve never felt more alive._

 

Bond cries out and his back arches as he trembles and grips Q even harder. “Fuck that was stupid you bloody gorgeous creature. Breathe, Q,” he pants, moving one hand down to stroke Q’s cock that has gone nearly soft. “You’re crazy, you know that right? I fucking love it, but you’re crazy.”

 

Q gasps and shifts his hips slightly and nope, definitely not ready for that. “Must be. I’m here with you aren’t I?” he jokes, his voice tight. “You should be kissing me right now,” he adds, thinking that would definitely help distract from the pain.

 

Bond considers his options for a moment, decides Q probably isn’t ready to lean down to him yet, then carefully sits up and guides Q’s legs to cross behind his back. Q winces, so Bond gets a hand into his hair again and kisses him deeply. Q practically collapses against him and sighs gratefully into his mouth, so Bond trails light scratches up and down Q’s back and waits for him to be ready for more.

 

Oh yes, this is much better. The pain slowly fades from spiking to a simple ache as Q focuses on the incredible feeling of Bond’s chest against his own, on how Bond tastes. And of course the man can kiss in a way that has his flagging erection fully hard again far before he expected it to be possible. His hands grip Bond’s shoulders firmly and he loses himself in the feeling of warm skin and stubble, on the racing beat of Bond’s heart and the drag of nails until his body finally adjusts. The spiking pain fades to a pleasantly dull ache, so he tightens the muscles of his arse experimentally and feels suddenly powerful as Bond groans and shifts his hips helplessly. “Okay, I’m okay. You can move now,” he murmurs against Bond’s mouth before shifting over to nip at the stubble-covered jaw.

 

Bond takes Q at his word, probably because he’s been trying so hard to keep still for the past few minutes that he’s shaking with the effort. He scoots them back awkwardly so he can lean his back against the headboard for leverage and then grabs Q beneath his arse so he can lift him and then let Q fall back forcefully into his lap. He doesn’t say anything, but the ragged sound of being overwhelmed by pleasure is enough for Q.

 

Well, Bond may be a silent-in-bed type, but Q emphatically is not. “We are so doing this against a wall. Maybe tomorrow, because I won’t be ready to go again until the magic re-set button fixes me. This is- I’ve never-” He pauses to curl inward so he can ride out a few thrusts with the skin of Bond’s shoulder between his teeth. “It’s like my body is so confused it can’t separate pain from pleasure. It still hurts a bit, but I don’t want it to stop. More. Show me what you can do,” he urges in what he hopes is a sexy voice but may just sound desperate.

 

Bond lifts Q off and tosses him backwards onto the bed with a look of feral amusement. “I’ll know I’ve done my job when you’ve finally been so thoroughly fucked you can’t talk anymore,” he observes as he hooks Q’s knees over his shoulders and slams back into him.

 

Q arches and keens and supposes he might be concerned about how much he likes Bond throwing him around if he wasn’t too busy loving the hell out of it. “God yes, this is perfect. Again with the biting. I’m really flexible,” he adds, urging Bond forward until his knees are practically resting on his own shoulders.

 

Bond takes a moment to adjust, because in order for this to work he has to kneel and drag Q into his lap so he can lean forward and grip around Q’s shoulders for leverage and hope Q is as strong as he looks. Then he does as Q asks and leaves a trail of bite marks just shy of drawing blood down Q’s neck and across his shoulders, any semblance of control completely gone as his hips snap forward unreservedly.

 

It’s the greatest thing Q has ever experienced. He feels taken and owned, yet incredibly powerful to be the one to make Bond so completely uninhibited. The closeness of the position makes the act feel shockingly intimate. It’s not making love, not even close- but it’s just as far removed from meaningless sex. Not that he says any of that out loud, but he does keep up a litany of swearing and praise until he’s so close to coming he can’t focus on anything else.

 

Bond makes a pleased noise when Q finally falls silent and takes it as a sign of his impending orgasm. He tears his mouth away from the bruised skin of Q’s shoulder to bite his lower lip hard before licking his way into Q’s mouth. He shifts his weight awkwardly to get his slick hand between them and begin sliding it up and down Q’s cock. It is utterly lacking in finesse, but it’s enough.

 

Q surprises himself by coming completely silently, but he’s too overcome to even make a sound. Score one for Bond, because it’s an especially spectacular orgasm. He takes a few moments to catch his breath before ordering, “Now you. I want to feel you come inside of me.” Apparently those were the magic words, because Bond makes three more shallow thrusts and then tenses up, head thrown back and Q can actually feel the pulses inside of his over-sensitive arse. It’s something he could definitely get used to.

 

Bond pulls out carefully then collapses onto the bed next to Q. He looks uncertain for a moment, then shifts to throw an arm and a leg over Q and nuzzle into the riot of bite marks on his neck.

 

“So that happened,” Q offers, petting Bond’s back as a wave of contentment rushes over him. It seems his crush has crossed over into genuine affection. Because of _course_ it has. Again with his life.

 

“Well spotted, Q,” Bond smirks. “Those keen observational skills are what make you such a brilliant Quartermaster.”  

 

“You’re an arse, and after everything the most masochistic part of this experience has to be the fact that I actually like you.” Ooops. That was rather close to the truth, but also rather harsh. Damn his post-sex brain-to-mouth filter. “Okay that came out wrong. It’s a good thing that I like you. I’m not trying to say that liking you is like liking pain, that’s not- you know what, I’m just going to shut up now.” Well, that was smooth.

 

“If you were coherent right now I might actually be offended,” Bond replies with a smile in his voice. “That was...damn, Q. I didn’t expect you to be so...enthusiastic in bed.” He slides his fingers gently over the welts on Q’s shoulder, evidently pleased by them.

 

“Aha! So you have been wondering what I was like in bed,” Q replies, lifting his shoulder subtly into the pressure and just going with enjoying the way it aches pleasantly.  

 

“Possibly,” Bond admits, sounding adorably nervous about admitting it.

 

“Wait, just _how_ long have you been wondering what I was like in bed?”

 

Bond mumbles something incoherent into Q’s chest.

 

“Tell me and I’ll let you be in charge next time,” Q lilts, making it sound like a reward.

 

“I said since the museum,” Bond huffs.

 

“Tell  me more,” Q encourages, feeling distinctly full of himself though his stomach flutters at the idea that Bond had found him attractive right away. Truthfully, at first he’d just thought Bond looked like he needed to sleep for a month.  

 

“I’m not good at being sweet, Q,” Bond hedges, shifting to lick at an especially vicious bite mark on Q’s neck.

 

Q tilts his head for better access and doesn’t bother to hide a moan of pleasure. “I think you’re lying. I think you’re very good at being sweet, you’re just afraid of it. It’s okay, I’m rather afraid of it as well, but I’ll go first if you’d like.” Q takes a steadying breath and ignores the way his pulse speeds up nervously. This has the potential to go oh so horribly wrong, but he knows it will just drive him crazy if he doesn’t get it out.

 

“I actually think you’re amazing, and smart, and funny, and apparently a sex god, and I’d like very much for you to be my boyfriend. Partner. Whatever word you want. And yes, I realize when today finally ends it will be more complicated but who knows better than me what I’d be getting myself into? And I tried not to fall for you, I really did, because if you don’t feel the same this whole time loop thing could really start to suck, but we both know I’m pants at keeping my mouth shut and you’re just always _here_ and being around you all the time and not being able to have you is making me crazy. So...yeah.” He can actually feel himself blushing and he’s about five seconds from hyperventilating. Quite possibly he should have said all of this _before_ jumping Bond like some sort of animal in heat. Shit.   

 

For the duration of Q’s speech Bond remains completely still, but his hold on Q tightens with every word. Before replying, he scoots up so he can kiss Q in what is clearly meant to be a calming manner as he pets Q’s wild curls. When he feels Q relax, he pulls away just far enough to speak. “I thought you were the loveliest thing I’d ever seen, even in that ridiculous outfit. So full of life and confidence and sass. You were such a cocky little shit.” He kisses the pout off of Q’s lips. “I can hardly believe my luck that you want me, and I’d be crazy not to want you back. I probably shouldn’t. Everyone I care about seems to end up dead and I’m scared shitless about how much I want this. Want you. So that’s a yes.” He hides his face in Q’s neck nervously. “How was that?”

 

Q swallows around the lump in his throat because the idea of the infamous 007 feeling nervous because of _him_ is both endearing and frightening. “I suppose it will do,” he replies airily, falling back in his natural tendency to make a joke out of things. He laughs when Bond smacks his stomach playfully. “Hey, does that mean I get to do things like ask you to run us a bath because I’m too lazy to move?”

 

“You’re too lazy to move? Who did most of the work there?”

 

“Whose arse is quite possibly bleeding?” Q counters.

 

Bond looks suddenly horrified and he pulls away to kneel between Q’s legs and urge them apart. He runs a finger gently over Q’s reddened arsehole and gathers some of the leaking cum to examine it.

 

“Okay, that’s just gross,” Q complains. “I’m fine. I mean, if you think you’re putting anything in my arse until the new day you’re crazy, but I kind of like how sensitive it feels. I’ll have you know I blame this new pain kink entirely on you, because it’s a completely new development.”  

 

Bond looks unapologetic. “If I’m your boyfriend I get to do things like make sure you don’t need medical attention because you decided not to let me prepare you properly. There’s a bit of blood, but nothing too concerning. Next time though, you let me lick you open then finger you until you’re crying for it,” he orders.

 

Q swallows hard and ignores the way his cock stirs at the idea. “That’s...yeah, I can live with that. So, bath? Mine is big enough for both of us if you don’t mind snuggling.”

 

“I’ll suffer through,” Bond replies before leaning down to kiss Q.

 

It’s just a light, happy, because-I-can sort of kiss but it makes Q’s heart clench and he tells himself that no, he is not _already_ in love with the man, it’s just post-sex bliss. He watches appreciatively as Bond saunters into the loo to run the bath. Actually, his life is kind of awesome.

 

They have a lazy bath, and Q enjoys just lying against Bond’s chest while he is gently washed. Bond dries him carefully with a fluffy towel and then they wander back to bed and laze between the sheets for a few hours.  All of his marks feel gloriously sensitive as Bond works his way from one to the next, covering each with soft kisses and licks and it feels so fragile, so intimate, that for once Q doesn’t want to risk shattering the atmosphere by talking.

 

When Bond seems satisfied that he’s reached every one of the marks he created, he pulls Q up onto his chest and they lie there talking about mindless things. Q’s decorating choices, how he likes the neighborhood, favorite places to visit in London and abroad. They finally order Chinese for delivery when their stomachs begin rumbling. Bond borrows an extra robe from Q, and manages to look comically adorable in it since it is rather a bit too small.

 

“Want the last egg roll?” Q asks from his place next to Bond on the sofa.

 

“I’m good. You know, I think if we’re dating you can start calling me James,” Bond states out of the blue.

 

“James,” Q muses, trying out the feel of the name on his tongue. He rather likes it. “Alright. I suppose you can call me Simon then. At least while we’re not at work.”

 

“Obviously,” Bond snorts. “Do you suppose we’ll ever get back to work?”

 

“I don’t know. Is it awful to admit I’m rather enjoying this? I’m frighteningly happy right now,” he admits shyly.

 

“Well, I guess we just keep enjoying ourselves then. Have any good movies?” Bond asks, picking up two remotes and looking at them in confusion.

 

Q grabs them. “We’ve been over this. I have all the movies ever. What are you in the mood for?”

 

Bond shrugs. “Something where shit blows up? As long as you don’t mind me picking apart all the reasons the action in action movies is impossible.”

 

Q grins. “You may be the only person on this planet who won’t be pissed when I do the same. Quick, tell me something obnoxious about yourself so you seem more real,” he says with a teasing poke to Bond’s side.

 

“I have a strange affinity for silly cat videos.”

 

“Seriously? Okay yeah, that works. How about... _Die Hard_. It has the advantage of being American so we don’t have to feel bad about making fun of it,” he adds.

 

“Almost all the movies where shit blows up are American,” Bond points out.

 

“I’m not seeing the flaw in this plan,” Q comments as he shifts to snuggle into Bond’s side.

 

They are on Die Hard four when the time loop resets itself.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 31

 

Something about their bizarre reality seems to have flipped a switch in Q’s psyche, because he suddenly finds himself wanting to try out all the kinks. Well, not _all_ of them- a quick google search while Bond is in the loo before they skip out to head back to his flat reveals things he’d never want to go near- but far more of them than he’s ever considered before.

 

“So I think you should shave my legs,” Q says as soon as Bond exits. “Well, pretty much everything below the waist, actually,” he adds in a low voice, loving the way Bond’s eyes widen as he glances around for witnesses. He’s suddenly no longer concerned about how long they are stuck repeating this day, because this is going to be so much _fun._  

 

“Right. We’re borrowing that prototype BSA you’ve been working on. It’s faster than the tube, and I get to feel your cock pressed up against my arse. I don’t suppose you have a motorcycle kink  hiding in there somewhere do you?” Bond asks as he practically drags Q in the direction of MI6’s mechanic shop, apparently not caring who sees them holding hands.

 

“I think I may be in danger of developing one,” Q admits as visions of Bond bending him over the sleek BSA burst into sudden technicolor across his mind.

 

___________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 40

 

“So I think we can agree this was a mistake,” Q finally manages, his cheeks and abs aching from laughter. He’s covered in sticky, disgustingly sweet bits the of edible bra and panties he’d chosen on a whim from the sex store they’d visited on their way to his flat this morning. “Maybe you were supposed to eat them off _before_ you made me all hot and sweaty.”

 

Bond’s face is red and there are actual tears of laughter streaming down his face as he tries to peel the offending articles off of Q’s body. “Maybe we should’ve shaved you again first as well,” he laughs, picking a red glob out of Q’s pubic hair. He licks his sticky lips again and grimaces. “Shit but that tastes bad. Strawberry my arse. I don’t think this is coming off, love. Shower?”

 

Q’s stomach flutters at the term of endearment, because it’s the first time James has ever used it. He doesn’t even seem to notice he said it though, as he slides off of the bed and holds his hand out for Q to take. “Good idea. Tomorrow we’ll go with your idea and get the vibrator that looks like a rabbit with a giant cock,” he replies with a grin.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 49

 

Q grits his teeth and takes a deep breath, trying to control his irritation. Who does Bond think he is, making fun of one of his projects? What does Bond even _know_ about robotics? “Just because it’s not a damn exploding pen doesn’t mean it’s not useful, James! The potential uses of these drone bots are endless-”

 

“Yeah, as long as the targets you’re using them are as dumb as robots themselves and become incapable of noticing flying disks the size of mobile phones speeding around their heads!” Bond retorts, his entire body projecting a dangerous sort of irritation.

 

Q digs his nails into his palms. “I told you I’m working on cloaking technology! Pardon me for wanting to share something I actually care about when clearly the only thing you’re interested in is how far you can get your cock up my arse. Which, just so you know, is so not happening today!”  

 

Bond practically vibrates, and his jaw works for a few moments before he replies. “Well pardon me for not wanting to get killed in the field due to faulty tech! And you know that’s not- I don’t- Fuck this. I’ll just see you in the morning.” Bond turns and stalks out, slamming the door as he goes.

 

As first fights go that could definitely have gone better, Q reflects, once he can think past the haze of anger clouding his thought process. He sighs and flops down into the nearest chair. Okay, so possibly the jab about James only wanting sex was a low blow since he knows it’s patently untrue. In truth, they probably just need some time apart since they’ve spent practically every minute together about a month and a half- kind of- and it’s nothing short of miraculous that it took this long to get on each other’s nerves. It would probably be healthy to take a few hours to themselves each day, really, just to avoid this sort of aggravation.

 

Q tinkers with his drones for about an hour, but he can’t really focus since he’s too busy also worrying just how upset James is at him. He huffs and grabs his mobile, figuring he may as well be the one to cave and apologize first since James is even more stubborn that he is and he doesn’t feel like letting the fight go on for days of a stalemate.

 

He types: _I’m sorry. I know you don’t just want me for sex. I don’t just want you for sex either, just in case that wasn’t clear. Though the sex is pretty damn amazing. I think we just need some time to ourselves. Enjoy your day, and I will see you in the morning._

 

It takes less than a minute for a reply to come in, which reads: _Sorry I wasn’t nice about your robot. The sex is amazing. So are you._

 

Q grins since he can just picture James getting embarrassed then hitting send before he can change that last line, since he’s still self-conscious about being sweet. It’s adorable. Okay, now that he can quit worrying, he can look into a few things he’s been wanting to do with James but are difficult to arrange with the man nearby. He pulls up the website of the Aston Martin headquarters in Gaydon and sighs appreciatively. Now this is porn. Damn but these cars are works of art. There is no way he can avoid fantasizing about road head and being fucked up against the soft leather interior or sleek hood and yeah...he palms his hardening cock through his trousers. Well, looks like sex is going to be a solo event for now.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 50

 

Bond fidgets in the passenger seat and prods at the blindfold Q insisted he wear. “Can I look yet? It’s been forever!”

 

“It’s been maybe an hour. What happened to that legendary spy patience? Besides, it’s going to be worth it. If you didn’t already want me, this would definitely do it,” Q promises as he steers the car he ‘borrowed’ from MI6 onto road leading to the Aston Martin headquarters. “In fact, if mind-blowing sex isn’t involved I am going to be severely disappointed considering the ridiculous number of fantasies I came up with while planning this yesterday.”

 

“Really? Do share,” Bond purrs, reaching out to find Q’s thigh so he can slide his hand up it suggestively.

 

“That’s actually damn close,” Q admits, shivering with anticipation as he pulls into a spot and turns off the engine. He reaches over and pulls off the blindfold.

 

“No fucking way,” Bond murmurs with the sort of awe associated with having seen god.

 

“Come on James, let’s go buy a car. No need to be too picky though, we can come buy a different one every day for the next few weeks if you want.”

 

Bond turns to Q and pulls him in for an absolutely filthy with promise kiss. “Oh, I want.”

 

The manager gives them a tour personally and lets them take several cars out for a test drive once Q tells him MI6 is considering purchasing a dozen new cars for its agents. It’s not like the man will have enough time to figure out that Q is lying, and it’s worth it to watch James looking like all his dreams have just come true. Q is very nearly jealous of the cars since James strokes them in a manner that has Q willing down the near-constant threat of an erection.

 

Bond finally settles on a V8 Vantage S in silver, and Q holds on for dear life as he floors it out of the driveway and careens around a corner onto the main road at an exhilaratingly terrifying speed. “So, did I earn a few of my fantasies becoming reality?” Q asks, letting all of his pent-up desire slip into his voice.

 

“Any of them. All of them,” Bond replies, shifting gears smoothly and giving Q a rakish grin.

 

A spike of arousal has Q squirming against the ridiculously soft leather seat. “How is that hot? Seriously, how do you make something like shifting gears, which I’ve never even bloody noticed before, look hot? Though I didn’t exactly take the manual car into account in my road head fantasy...I’m not sure I’ll actually be able to manage it while we’re driving. You definitely can’t fuck me while driving either, especially not on the hood. I guess I’ll just have to settle for calling this foreplay,” he sighs as he reaches over to dig his nails into Bond’s thigh.

 

“I’ll find us a nice deserted area. There’s nothing like driving fast after good sex. This was just what I needed, Simon. Thank you.”

 

The blindingly gorgeous smile and accompanying eye crinkles are apparently the last straw, because Q swallows hard and the way his pulse speeds up has nothing to do with the recent hairpin turn. _Oh hell, I love you,_ Q thinks. He can’t even lie to himself and pretend it’s a surprise.

 

A short while later Q knows it must be true, because even the realization that actual real-life sex in an Aston Martin is not nearly as good as fantasy sex in an Aston Martin isn’t enough to change his mind. He can’t help wincing as his knee bangs into the dashboard yet again, and then laughing when James’ attempt at shifting to make them more comfortable only results in his banging his head against the ceiling.

 

“Shit, sorry,” Bond apologizes again, but the unrepentant happiness in his voice is evident and Q knows the man is smiling even though he’s facing the wrong direction actually see it.

 

“This is without a doubt the most ridiculous sex we’ve ever had, and I’m counting the incident involving the glittery dildo.” Q gives up trying to fix the angle and just flops back against James’ chest, which huh, actually helps. He clenches his arse and turns his head for an awkward kiss, squeaking in surprise when pleasure sparks though him and okay, this is good. This works. He undulates his hips, finally more turned on than amused.

 

“That’s it love, that’s it,” Bond encourages. “God but you’re fucking perfect.”

 

Q changes his mind. Car sex is every bit as good as he’d hoped.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 68

 

Q stares at the smoking wreckage in the distance. “So apparently it is possible to take down a tank using only the explosives available during World War Two and a remote controlled car.”

 

Bond smirks. “You owe me ten pounds.”     

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 76

 

“Satisfied?” Q asks from his sprawl across Bond’s chest. Damn, his abs and thighs would seriously be feeling this tomorrow if there was such a thing.

 

“Very. I just wanted to try it,” Bond replies, petting Q’s hair fondly.

 

“Well, we tried it. Topping is too damn much work. Can I go back to being the highly satisfied with the arrangement bottom now?” Honestly, Q very much prefers it and he knows James does too.

 

“You’re spoiled rotten, you know that right?”

 

“Yep.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 80

 

They are lazing on Q’s sofa, both feeling too content to pick up the remote and select another movie, when Bond begins to speak.

 

“My first kill was difficult. My twentieth wasn’t. By the time I got to Silva, it was easy as breathing. I think...I’d like to tell you about that. And about M.”

 

Q reminds himself to keep breathing, holds James tighter, and just listens.   

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 91

 

“Indoor paintball game you said. It’ll be _fun_ , you said,” Q hisses from his crouch behind a desk. “This is like the battle of Waterloo and we’re the fucking French!”

 

“I’m not the one who promoted it like a counter-terroristic training exercise and made an extra two weeks off the prize!” Bond retorts from behind an overturned table to Q’s left. “Are we the only ones still in play from our team? I lost my earwig during that last assault on accounting.”  

 

“Afraid so. And they’ve still got Eve, and that terrifying cafeteria lady. I’m half considering recommending her for the double-oh program when this is over, because she obviously missed her calling.”

 

“I haven’t seen shooting like that since you made me watch The Matrix,” Bond admits.

 

“Shut up, you loved that film. I’m pretty sure we’re fucked at this point. It’s been an honor,” Q says with a salute. “So, once more unto the breach? If we’re going to die we may as well go out fighting, and all of that?”

 

“Right. Just do me a favor and let me be the one to shoot Eve? I owe her after all,” Bond replies with a look that would terrify Q if he didn’t know the man better.

 

“I can do that. FOR GLORY!” Q shouts as he and Bond charge the exit into a barrage of surprisingly painful paint-filled ammunition.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 102

 

“Now we add two eggs,” Q reads off of the recipe for lemon cake he found online. He’s rather impressed by how their cooking abilities have improved since they got tired of eating take out and decided to begin cooking their own meals. The kitchen smells like the baking lasagna, and there are ingredients strewn over all the countertops.

 

Bond does as Q requests. “Next?”

 

“Ah, that’s it for the wet ingredients. Now we need to mix them with the dry ingredients and coat the pan in flour.”

 

Bond looks up and does that thing Q loves where he’s trying not to giggle so he just snorts. “I’m pretty sure you can just shake your head over it,” he points out as he ruffles Q’s hair, resulting in a puff of flour.

 

Q sneezes, and when he opens his eyes Bond is looking at him with an increasingly familiar expression that Q can’t quite define, but never ceases to make his stomach flutter pleasantly. “What?...James?”

 

Bond steps closer and reaches out to wipe a stray bit of flour off of Q’s nose. He takes a deep breath, looks like he’s going to say something, opens his mouth, closes it again, then takes another breath.  

 

“That was an admirable impression of a fish out of water. Are we playing charades?” Q asks to lighten the mood since the room suddenly feels a few meters smaller than usual.

 

“I love you,” Bond says in a rush, as if he’s afraid he won’t get the words out any other way.

 

Q feels a dizzying rush of happiness, followed immediately by the irrepressible urge to act like a smug little shit about it. “ _That’s_ what that look means? Seriously? You’ve had me confused for weeks! We’ve been together- as in almost 100% of the time together- for what amounts to months, and you’ve honestly been nervous about telling me this? You’re an idiot.”

 

Bond scowls adorably. “That’s it? I tell you I love you and you tell me I’m an idiot?”

 

“You’re an idiot for not noticing I’ve loved you since we bought that first Aston Martin,” Q replies, stepping closer. “And possibly I’m an idiot for not telling you when I realized it, so we can be idiots together. You can breathe now, by the way.”

 

“Can I? Clearly I’m doing something wrong,” Bond smirks as he pulls Q in for a thorough kiss, struggling to keep their lips together as Q keeps talking.

 

“That’s terrible. I’m going to be stuck spending the rest of my life with a boyfriend who has terrible lines,” Q protests, smiling against Bond’s persistent mouth until he finally melts into the kiss. As kisses go, it’s rather incredible, actually, he decides. He then decides he doesn’t care if the lasagna burns or the cake never gets baked as he is guided into the bedroom.

 

He _definitely_ doesn’t care as James kisses and bites and scratches him until his skin is singing, then licks him open until he’s reduced to a whimpering, writhing mess. Then he’s being stretched and filled and he can finally think it, _loved_ , and it’s just this side of too much and he craves it, never wants it to stop.  He wraps his legs around his lover’s back and then James is licking into his mouth and moving inside of him and it’s perfect. It’s everything.

 

An indeterminate amount of time later Q wakes up, rubbing at a crick in his neck. In bed. In his flat. With James. He feels around for his glasses but can’t find them, so he pokes the warm body next to him. “Wake up James! What time is it? We actually fell asleep!”

 

Bond mumbles something groggily, then Q’s words register and he scrambles into a sitting position to look at the clock. “Ten o’clock. It’s ten o’clock!” He bolts out of bed to dig his mobile out of his pocket. “Ten o’clock on the fifth of November. Is it over? I really thought we’d be zapped back to where time stopped in the first place.”

 

“So did I, actually, but at this point I’ve given up on trying to find the logic in this situation. So...it’s actually going to be tomorrow, tomorrow?” Q asks, both excited and nervous about it.

 

“Looks that way. It’s going to be interesting watching everyone’s confusion over this apparently sudden development. Not that it’s any of their damn business,” Bond adds as he climbs back into bed and kisses Q’s forehead.

 

An idea occurs to Q, and even though it’s ridiculous, it’s no more ridiculous than this entire experience. “It’s because you finally admitted you love me.”

 

“What?”

 

“That’s what changed. You love me.” Q grins. “You broke the curse. Does that make you my handsome prince?”

 

“That’s- that can’t be- huh. Well, at least we know it wasn’t an enemy of Queen and Country.”

 

“No one’s ever going to believe us, are they?”

 

“Nope. And I’d really like to avoid a stay in Psych, so how about we just keep this one to ourselves? Go back to sleep, love. We can figure things out in the morning.” He lies back and pulls Q into his side to snuggle.

 

“In the morning. I like the sound of that,” Q admits. “Sing me a bedtime song, my prince?”

 

“Call me that again and I’ll toss you out of bed. I just knew I’d regret telling you I enjoy karaoke,” Bond huffs fondly. He considers for a moment, then starts in on _Happiness is a Warm Gun._

 

Q snuggles in close. The last thing he thinks before drifting to sleep is that his life is actually pretty damn amazing.

___________________________________________________________________________

 

Day 1

 

“Cupid, darling, are you sure it’s not time for you to get out of the game? Rather losing your touch, aren’t you?” Gabriel lounges against the office door with a teasing smirk plastered across his face.

 

Cupid grits his teeth. “It’s not my fault! People are just so cynical these days. _This_ one refuses to let himself fall for _that_ one, even after the arrow,” he protests, waving toward the two sleeping men on the sofa. “It was the perfect location too. First meeting, art museum…”

 

“Aaaand then you failed,” Gabriel finishes.

 

“I hate you,” Cupid gripes. “Just...help me fix this? Look at them, won’t they be adorable together?”

 

“I take it you’re asking for Loki the trickster, not Gabriel the archangel.”

 

“Possibly,” Cupid hedges. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

 

“Fine, but you owe me.” Gabriel pulls a shiny package out of his pocket. “As it happens, I have my own adorable couple I could use your help with.”  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't seen Supernatural, the Gabriel cameo comes from the episode "Mystery Spot" where he is playing his role as the trickster god Loki (the alias he chose after ditching heaven) and traps the Winchester brothers in a looping day.


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